


i may be bad (but i'm perfectly good at it)

by AvaRosier



Category: game of thrones
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom!Sansa, F/M, Femdom, Modern AU, Pegging, Spanking, subby!jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: Sansa knits him scarves and sweaters and loves him with the sweetness that had so often been denied her by others. She also blindfolds him and calls him pet before she punishes him. Jon was lucky (and smart)- he got him a woman who can do both.(Republished)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Kudos: 15





	i may be bad (but i'm perfectly good at it)

**Author's Note:**

> title from 's&m' by rihanna, as you do.

“_Are you sure you still want this, Jon_?”

The question hangs in the thick silence of their bedroom. Even with the blindfold on, Jon is aware of her presence a scant foot away; it's the displacement of air as she steps closer to where he kneels, bound.

“Yes, I do. Please, Sansa.”

He hears a tsk. “_That's not what you're supposed to call me_.”

“Please, my lady,” he corrects himself. His voice seems to croak. Is she watching him right now? She must be. Him bare-ass naked with his half-hard cock on display. Maybe he's just being hyper-aware, but he can almost feel the caress of her eyes. Whoosh, goes the rush of blood to said organ. Maybe if he tells her he's saluting her, she'll spank him harder.

There's a rustle, followed by the clink of chains sliding together. “_I don't think you quite understand your place yet, so I brought you a little present to help you remember_.” When the collar is wrapped around his throat, he swallows convulsively. The trail of cold metal down his chest, brushing his cock, must be the chain attached to the ring on the collar. Something in him tenses before it finally unlodges. Yes...this is what he had wanted. To belong to Sansa, to be hers.

“_There_,” she coos. “_Now, who are you_?”

“I'm your pet.”

“_And what does my pet want_?”

“Only to serve you, my lady.”

“_Good boy_.” Her voice is a near whisper and he feels her gloved fingers comb through his curls, tugging to make a hundred pinpricks of pleasure-pain dance across his scalp. He shivers.

“_Now, I want to see how well you can serve me_.” Her hair is like silk as it brushes his thigh and the chain lifts away from his body. “_Come here, pet_.”

It's ignominious, being tugged around like this on a leash, especially when he his hands are still bound behind his back and he can't crawl properly. Jon focuses on not toppling over as he tries to control the lingering urge to defy her. Then his shoulders knock into her knees and his traitorous cock gives an excited twitch. Gods, he can smell her now- she must be sitting on their bed, ass at the edge, all spread open and ready. Another tug on the leash and he leans in, inhaling her scent.

“_Eat me out, Jon. Make me come_,” she commands and he obeys.

Jon practically mashes his face into her cunt trying to figure out what's where without the benefit of his hands or his sight. Nose to clit, he parts the seam of her labia with his tongue and forces himself to start her off slowly. He laps and laps and laps until Sansa hums loudly and tugs hard on his collar. That's when he twirls the tip of his tongue up over the hood of her clit before closing his lips over the little nub, giving it a light suckle.

No hands, no sight, but he hears her. She's breathing heavier, letting out these forceful little moans. He also feels her; her hand drifts down to clutch at his head, trying for more pressure and less teasing. When he's got her trembling and moving desperately, he goes in for the kill. Tongue to clit, lashing at it and in between alternating around her favorite letters, which are 'Z' and 'R'. Sansa's moans reach a crescendo and those gorgeous, toned thighs of hers are clamping down around his head, trapping him against her cunt without any hope of oxygen. That's okay, he knows he won't need any.

He's so hard and he can't even give his cock a few tugs. Even as fit as he is, his back, abs, and thigh muscles are starting to shake from the effort of holding himself at this angle. She's all but arching off the bed and Jon keeps his mouth on her, working her through every spasm and every undulation until she's groaning on the mattress and batting his head away.

Starbursts dance across his eyelids as he draws in breath to his oxygen-starved mind. Sitting back on his haunches, he waits. There's no response from Sansa and he can't help smirking at the mental picture of her sprawled on the bed, skin all pinked up and breasts heaving. He can just picture her cunt, too: open and glistening, the matted red curls darker now thanks to him.

Then her voice breaks the silence of the room- the breathy nature of it doing nothing to mask her displeasure. “_What makes you think you get to smile like that? Pets don't get to be prideful_.” She's probably frowning in consternation- mouth upturned and eyebrows furrowed- at his continued misbehavior. He knows, he just _knows_ what's coming and he wants it so badly he would confess it to each one of the seven gods.

Sansa sighs. “_Clearly I need to punish you_.” Yes you do. Yesyesyes. “_Kneel on the bed_.”

He moves to do so quickly, heartbeat pounding a furious tattoo against his ribcage. Fingers begin to tug on the ties keeping his wrists bound behind his back, meaning it was Jon's turn to frown. His confusion persists when Sansa orders him to get onto all fours. “Don't-” he clears his throat. “Don't you want me to lie across your lap?” He's been fantasizing about that particular bit for months now.

“_Hm. I think we both know you don't deserve to rub that cock against anything right now_.” _Seven hells. Fuck!_ He's disappointed, but even more turned on if such a thing could be possible. Knowing that his cock is going to be denied stimulation only makes it harder- hard enough to split bricks, he bets. And Sansa's right- if he laid across her lap, he'd hump her legs until he found release.

He lowers himself onto his forearms and waits.

She just touches him, that's all she does. A bare hand resting on his flank, and he jerks as if he'd been hit. The throaty giggle that escapes her then has him flushing in embarrassment. It's like his entire body is tensed in anticipation. Her hand moves away and he doesn't have the foggiest idea where it's g- _thwack!_

The first one is more vibration than pain, and he inhales sharply, holds his breath, then exhal- _THWACK_!

He grunts; clearly Sansa had figured out her first hit was too tentative and this time, went for his left butt cheek with more force. Jon knows he's clenching his buttocks as if the act will spare him the brunt of the next, unexpected hit. _THWACK_! His leg wobbles and he bites back a groan. _THWACK! THWACK!_ He jumps and twists, trying to hold onto his thoughts. The pain is sharp, but so is the pleasure and Jon grinds his teeth, hissing with every spank. His mind is going blank, reduced to an atavistic state where nothing but this exists. Powerlessness. Surrender. It's precisely this he both desired and feared.

There's one last fragment of resistance: his memories. He tries to remember growing up poor. He tries to remember living with the knowledge that he was the result of an adulterous affair between his mother and a scion of one of the oldest, most powerful families in Westeros. He tries, ever so desperately, to remember how his father's guilt meant being sent to good schools where he never fit in and was constantly reminded of how inferior he was.

He needs to hold on to this- _thwack_! He must. It's- _thwack_! It's his armor. But even as he tries, he thinks about how much he hates the way he's held onto his past all these years. And this is Sansa. Sansa. _Thwack!_ She loves him, he loves and trusts her- _thwack_! He does. He could stop this-_ thwack_! He could stop this with a single word. Just say 'dragon' and she will give him a respite. But he holds his tongue. A series of blows rain down upon his ass, too fast for him to process thought, and for the first time, Jon leans into Sansa's hand, accepting his punishment.

It stops, and all he can hear at first is his blood roaring in his ears and the strange numbness in his ass that reverberates like white noise. Then Sansa rests her palm over one ass cheek, ever so gently, and he groans at the sudden awareness of heat.

“_Shhhh_,” she tells him, rubbing at raw skin. “_You did so well. I could just keep you like this. You'd like this, wouldn't you? To be my pet forever. I'd take such good care of you_.” Gods, this is why he loves her- she takes things such as his stuttered confession of this kink and approaches it in her own way.

Her hand lightly squeezes his ass cheek then dips in between. It is both an itch and a relief and he clenches around the intrusion, not rolling away. “No,” he moans. He still doesn't say the word.

“_Sit up, Jon_.”

She's right in front of him as soon as he does as she ordered. Stroking his cheek and jaw, dotting sweet kisses against his lips and over his face. “_You're such a good pet, are you ready for your reward_?”

“Yes,” he sighs tremulously. His mind feels as if it's been scattered through space and time and he can't seem to focus his thoughts- all he can do is feel. Jon does as she instructs him and lies face down on the bed. They'd discussed this quite thoroughly before Sansa had placed the order online for the small dildo and an accompanying harness. (Said dildo was purple and sparkly, but of course.) Half the fun in the planning was seeing the way his girlfriend would bite her lip or bounce her leg up and down whenever they discussed this particular kink of Jon's.

He can't quite find the words to describe it, how open he feels, how without tension as she readies him before there is the slick press of the dildo at his entrance. This is a wholly new experience and Jon gives himself wholly over to it, clenching down around the shaft and not muffling his groans when Sansa finally figures out the right angle to hit the magic spot. His moan echoes loudly in the relative silence of the room, bracketed by both his and Sansa's shallow breathing and the obscene slap of flesh on flesh. Gradually, they begin to rock in tandem and he feels the familiar build up in his balls. As if reading his mind, Sansa bends low until her nipples abrade his back and her breath tickles his ear.

“_Touch yourself. Now, Jon_.” Her voice is low and throaty, Jon regrets for the hundredth time he hadn't opened up about his fantasies earlier. Sansa Stark was practically born to order him around. He wastes no time in reaching down to fist his cock. As on the knife's edge as he is, it takes no more than three or four pumps before he's spilling himself all over the sheets and letting out a shuddering moan from the pounding waves upon waves of his release, especially as they crash around the intrusion in his body. It takes a minute or two before Sansa moves off of him and they both collapse onto their backs, shoulder to shoulder on the bed. Jon winces when the still raw skin on his ass makes contact with the sheets.

“_Wow_,” she murmurs breathily.

“Yeah, seconded.” Jon hasn't felt that spent in a while. He reaches up and tugs off the blindfold, blinking at the dim lights of their bedroom. Sansa rolls over onto her side and rests her head on his shoulder. The dildo pokes into his hip.

“Any regrets?” He knows her well enough by now to spot the uncertainty in how she keeps looking down instead of up at him. But he can see how flushed her cheeks are. He had wondered, frequently, whether he'd feel embarrassed after- exposed in an unnerving way. But he doesn't feel either of those things. If anything, he doesn't think he's ever felt this close to someone. Something about having a partner who accepts these parts of you, he'd guess.

“None. Thank you, Sansa.”

“You're welcome, Jon. We'll definitely have to do this again.” He smirks at the eagerness in her voice.

“Definitely. In fact, I'd bet you have a few ideas of what you'd like to do differently next time.” He could just close his eyes like he's doing right now and drift off within minutes. Sansa's cheek moves against his shoulder and she begins tracing patterns through his chest hair with her finger.

“Maybe I do,” she says coyly.

Jon's last thought for the next hour is '_Gods, I love this woman_!'


End file.
